China Protester’s Flight to Freedom Grounded in L.A.

A 22-year-old Chinese woman who says she fled Beijing after taking part in the student protest for democracy in Tian An Men Square has spent the last six weeks in custody at a federal detention center in Inglewood--an unexpected last hurdle on what she describes as a flight for freedom.

So far, almost all of what Chen Yiwei has seen of the United States has been framed by the bars of the federal facility, an imposition that does not seem to have dampened her enthusiasm for the country.

“I heard that America is a good country,” Chen said. “I’ll have a future here.”

Chen’s bid for political asylum is to be heard today. Her cause has become a rallying point for Southern California Chinese, some of whom have visited her regularly to console her and buck up her spirits.

U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service officials refused to discuss her case. A recommendation for how the INS should rule on Chen’s status has been prepared by the State Department for the hearing today before an immigration judge in Los Angeles. Her attorney is optimistic that authorities will believe her story and grant her political asylum.

Chen is one of about 20 Chinese in the region who have applied for political asylum, according to the INS, but she is believed to be the only woman among six Chinese nationals being detained in Los Angeles. She was taken into custody at Los Angeles International Airport when authorities discovered that her passport was forged--a necessity, she says, for her escape.

A student from the southern Chinese city of Xiamen, Chen said she was among about 70 youths who journeyed by train from her hometown to Beijing in late May to join pro-democracy students at Tian An Men Square. At first, her older brother had discouraged her from going, but Chen was determined to be part of the movement.

That decision later landed her on a government wanted list after the night of June 3, when soldiers and protesters clashed in a bloody encounter. Now, more than two months later, as public attention has shifted to other events, Chen’s future--and the future of other protesters-turned-fugitives--remains touched by that fateful night.

Convinced after her brother’s capture that there was no place in China where she could elude authorities, Chen managed to flee the country by way of Hong Kong and Tokyo with help from friends and relatives.

She declined to provide details of that journey to protect those who helped her. Upon her arrival at Los Angeles International Airport on June 24, U.S. Customs officials, detecting her forged passport, shuttled her off in handcuffs to the detention center on Century Boulevard near the airport.

Distraught, drained and unable to eat or sleep much, Chen said her first days in the detention center were the worst.

“The 10 days were like a year,” she said. “I stood at the window looking outside.” At night she cried. “An old lady on the bottom bunk scolded me, but I couldn’t help it.”

Often, she stared out the window, catching glimpses of an America she once knew only through photographs. She watched as shiny cars whizzed past and pedestrians in flashy clothes sauntered by. Amid the blur of color and motion, what caught her attention most were the mothers holding children, she said.

“How lucky they are, they are with their relatives,” Chen said tearfully in a recent interview. “I’m here alone. I don’t know if I will ever see my parents again.”

The two-story Inglewood facility holds 100 people and is the only detention center in the Los Angeles immigration district, said John Looney, a deputy district director of immigration in Los Angeles. The district covers counties from Ventura to Los Angeles to San Bernardino.

Security is tight at the center, a putty-colored building that was converted from a motel. Flanking the center are an abandoned, boarded-up liquor store and a string of inexpensive motels.

The front windows are sealed with opaque, silver-colored material to prevent the curious from peeking in. Visitors must be buzzed in, and once inside they are escorted through a cell-like entry area before being directed to a small conference room.

It is in the conference room, where detainees meet with their lawyers, that they enjoy some breathing space, Chen said. In the regular quarters, they are monitored closely by the staff and have little space to exercise. On their side of the courtyard, male detainees have a Ping-Pong table and a volleyball net. Space for women is more limited, and most just walk for exercise in their rooms, an adjoining walkway or in a small common area.

At first, Chen had no contact with outsiders. With limited knowledge of English, Chen could not communicate with the other female detainees.

Four Chinese men who also fled the Communist Party’s crackdown on protesters were also detained at the center, but a faded red line painted on the concrete courtyard separated the men from the women. It was only at mealtimes that Chen caught a few encouraging words from her fellow Chinese detainees.

“You must eat,” they told her. “What has happened has happened. At least it’s better here than in China. In China, you may be in jail or worse.”

She knew they were right, Chen said, but she could not forget the past.

“Whoever thought that the Chinese Liberation Army would shoot its own people?” Chen said, recalling the night she saw two friends crushed by an army tank and another fatally shot in the head. As she relived the painful experience, her forehead wrinkled into furrows. She spoke rapidly, her words flying in an emotional barrage.

After the killings, Chen and her brother straggled back to their hometown, in shock and exhausted, only to find their names on a fugitives list published in the evening newspaper. Their pro-democracy activities were described as “counterrevolutionary.” Chen believes that neighbors who had quarreled with her family had turned in their names.

“Don’t go home,” she said her brother told her before they parted ways. “Promise me, no matter what happens, you have to escape, to the mountains, overseas. You must not come back here.” Two days later, Chen heard from friends that her brother had been captured.

Eleven days into her stay at the Inglewood detention center, two strangers came to see her.

They were members of the Western American Assn. of Chinese Political Refugees, and they wanted to help and comfort her. They gave her Chinese-English dictionaries and newspapers, a tape recorder and English-language tapes. They learned of her predicament from Chen’s immigration attorney, Dorothy Harper, who has helped other association members gain political asylum.

“We told her not to worry,” said George Mo, president of the political refugees association and a Catholic whose family had been persecuted in China for religious beliefs. “We told her there are many Chinese here who will help her. If her application is approved, we will help her find a job.”

Association volunteers take turns visiting Chen. Each detainee is allowed only one visit a week, on Wednesday afternoons.

“I was so happy I found my own people,” Chen said. She has regained her appetite, to the point where she even eats raw salad vegetables, something uncommon in China.

“I’m happy but at the same time I’m sad,” she said. “Now I am applying for asylum, but in China people are still being arrested.

Despite her mixed feelings, she is looking forward to a new life.

“So many Chinese are helping me,” Chen said. “I’m very moved.”